


pool

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, also smut., birthday party., future foundation canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka





	pool

some might not consider togami byakuya the party type.

perhaps the type for breaking one up, ruining one, kicking sand in the faces of all the insolent brats who don't know  _plastic_ labels from  _aluminum_ and leave him an hour's worth of dropping half slugged budweisers into the correct recycle. he'd call himself fun, witty, a deliciously interesting conversation holder after he's thrown back a few himself, all things wondrous in the spotlight of late night fandango. so he's the perfect party guy, in this reality-  _hoorah!_ but he does not go to parties because there are no parties to be had in such a time as this reality, asphalt that crumbles neath dreading traipses and fires gone to blaze sky high where once a childhood memory stood.

so it is just the most natural that they should rest a quartet in midst of helium choked fever. he does not go to parties, but has no qualms against throwing them.

(well, it cannot stand so entirely veracious, as he'd voiced quite a list of reasons bile rises in his throat at the idea, but an argument paddled back that he has the best house ever had been found difficult to deny.)

a crimped orange streamer taunts sets of front paws in a corner aside the longest white velvet sectional in the front den. he watches on in idle disdain.

"you realize how ridiculous this is," he says over the mild foaming chaos, not yet so discordant as a yankii gang rager but killing his temples to throb in the sounds of hollers back forth of a ruler length stereo yowling whatever cd had been tugged out and dusted off from beneath station wagon seats. he's spoken it in a tone only bored, questioning close though never would he refuse his own sagehood to inflect, and she's heels to hardwood before him proving all of his points at once. identical to his own, kirigiri bears that stare taken to reticent insipidity. identical to her own, she snaps the string of a tip point paper hat to his chin, and he's only slightly worth a guffaw at to take the starring role of pouty birthday party six year old; where hot wheels had gleamed back in his hungering eyes, he tears away the paper to find great aunt aiko's already going on about how wonderful wool knit thermals do a growing boy.

but rather would it pair to his crossed arm gray cloud dripping blond, that it isn't his gifts to open at all, isn't his rotation round the sun, but the first there of the runs still drawn down his favorite silk dress socks, the memory of knee high bandage wrappers to the bathroom waste and dazzling stories at the office of how he'd managed to have a full arm length mauled by four pounds of fur.

he's celebrating a cat's birthday, and he feels as though he'll be soon interviewed for world's most salient idiot.

though, with such stiff competition as those gathered around him, that'd be still a high honor to achieve. the truest victor clomps his overbearing self to that same corner where the guest of honor sits batting dollar store decor, the second end placed to fingers soft in their teasing waves. the cat startles at the newcomer's heavy steps, howling excitement, drops it to dead on her stiff legged sprint around the wall's bend. "kittychi! come back, i won't hurt you!"

something passes hotly from the taut pulled mouth of the first, and she springs from her haunches in a censuring that leaves him quaking in penitence before scuttling off after the birthday girl.

despite the ever so bemusing hagakure/asahina power duo of dumbassery, togami finds his attention better captured by the entrance at the archway to the side, and he'd tell kirigiri off sharp for answering the door at  _his_ house as if she'd any semblance of a right (as if kirigiri kyouko needs any semblance of a right to do anything kirigiri kyouko does- but that's a separate matter, he deems) were her beckoned in not such a lighter flicked on in either pupil.

"hi, naegis!" shouts in an immediate snap of a beam broad as sin. in asahina's arms rests a healthy mound of calico, squirming the mildest at her quick capture, at her front paw being taken so gentle to mimic a waving hello. the first to catch her greeting shrugs shoulders to an inward pinch, and his laugh's so charming togami can almost forgive not being the very first to lock eyes and exchange pleasantries. naegi spares a wave back once his cargo's placed to the glass top of the coffee table. the second to the plural- she grins back in the same fervency, to his guess vibrating in such thrill at the mere invitation to such grandeur, to the playground brat being allotted an afternoon with the big kids.

the big kids who're throwing a birthday party for a marble eyed fleabag kirigiri kyouko would sooner take a bullet for than for any other in the room, but he decides that too is beside the point. komaru sets the gift in her hands to the table likewise at the doting mother's curt instruction, freed hands accepting gladly from her the same rite of passage as all others, and togami thinks her bed of cowlicks looks extra stupid stuffed under a paper cone party hat, but says null of it to his wandering fate lost.

naegi's standing remained at the table before him, bent slight at the waist in his pause where motion had started, makes his ribs quake to keep a card-toed schnauzer's face. he's staring to him, smiling a note most delicate, all at once steals from him the splendor silent. softest hands pull the cover from the dome he'd set, reveal a tantalizing mess of whites and pinks.

" _andooou_  made that?" breaks whatever tension togami had envisioned for himself. hagakure leans forward, hands a prayer's and grin slick with stomach lust, dusts shadows along the gifter's pin prick frame.

"yep," naegi says, nods. "she says she's sorry she couldn't make it, but she sends her regards to her granddaughter."

he'd aimed the message toward the one planted a floor lamp's rival in her silent stillness. kirigiri nods, bounces that mesmerizing head of hers once evened with the finger curled to chin, through those eyes a polished deference. or...something. togami's never been an ultimate at unraveling her bit by bit. never is the time to try in candor, no more so now when his gaze has danced back upon the cake's immaculacy, challenges his capabilities in its pristine swirled edges and icing rose buds.  _happy 1st birthday kitty_ spirals over the top in a steady handed window pane carmine. the fine dotted heart nose and whiskers toothpicked beneath it hardly even come along tacky as they would on something from the grocer's end aisle case. but he's spent so long admiring the cake that he's lost through forest's trail; when it is again he's glanced up, there's a knee brushing his own in ( _scoff)_ obviously mere innocence, and naegi hasn't sat so near to him on the couch for rationale of a sordid love affair but only two halfway to lifelong friends, at a birthday party for a cat, and naegi still looks stupidly handsome even once he's allowed his chin's circulation to be chopped down the middle by a child sized elastic hold.

"having fun?" he asks, not the slightest mocking, genuine naegi makoto. togami is busied so far by waltzing a gaze up the lengths of him that he's hardly an answer aside the flat glower tossed and breathed chortle another back. but those lengths; dark jeans more classy than a casual denim stuffed, blazer to match over modest v collar a contrasting white. and he'd actually gotten dressed up for a  _cat's birthday party-_ togami can think only, in his head's quiver either side,  _genuine_ naegi makoto.

"hey," calls a snapped gaze straight. naegi's eyes are longing, somewhere, milk toast sincere to sink within. "you're alright?"

the rave's gone enough distracted to allow them the moment's soft. asahina and komaru fawn wild over kitty's golden licks of fur, delighting in every bat of paw reached up from her lay to wriggling back; hagakure spews conversation in mouthfuls taken from the short array of snacks along a table beneath the dormant flat screen; the floor lamp flickers idle aside.

but he too needn't find himself so enthralled by diversion, and he meets naegi's wondering eyes with two blades once over sheathed.

"only basking in the humiliation of renting my living room out for nariminya's sweet sixteen," responds he final. and his eyes do roll as they so adore, scoffs pretty and petty to his own scorching.

naegi melds touch cross sunshine smile in his muted giggling. "that's funny," he says betwixt it, as though togami could not on his own figure out that's what laughter signals, but perhaps could not in his dripping melt unto a man's muddle, taken mallow to fire by the hand now dropped to rest  _just_ higher than his knee. when he looks again down to match hearth, naegi's got the messiest look of warm ardor on his face. togami can't recall the last time he breathed.

he excuses himself in such swift a manner it draws further concern, though he brushes it gentle back in fingers subtle to shoulder, and he chooses the farthest bathroom down a winding hall to draw gone the ambiance. to the tune of silence he's scrubbing palms cupped to thirst over his bared face, flicks hands off dainty for gripping thousand thread towels the salve. it isn't that naegi makoto's gotten him particularly worked up over a hand on his thigh, it's that naegi makoto has been under the label of his own for not far enough a length to surpass puppy love, and he's...teething.

ideally he'd march back to the living room and take him right there on his three hundred thousand yen sofa, but he thinks that's just a touch inappropriate to work as an announcement to all their closest friends that they've begun dating.

he does not grace the water bill with a wasted flush to cover shame; perhaps a simpleton would duck beneath the guise, though togami byakuya has no issue with spilling he's spent a full three minutes willing arousal away, because bathrooms are multifunctional and it's his goddamn house.

" _pst,"_ drags him quick, attracts a strong years' glance toward the door of his goddamn basement. and who dare it be tucked a single step behind it but the creme to his crop, matches his caught gaze with a mountain peak powder smile. "hagakure said we needed cups for the punch. you keep them downstairs, right?"

"no," togami says, guides him down the stairwell in a switch flicked to sun and door clicked to solitude. naegi walks just behind him, he can feel it, shadows his moves as though met by history twinned. "...quite the show for someone who wanted to keep things discreet," is his immediate strike, and there's no necessity to further pull apart each fragment to explanation, and naegi's already breathing that chuckle the first step that meets solid foundation, already meeting either side to pristine pressed suit coat with palms bare to draw him inward.

"i can't help it," he swears, leans the length to taunt lips a brushing heat. "you're irresistible, byakuya."

he rewards the theatrics with a shove backward, fine ass to hardwood with knuckles sundering, mouths a salted lime to tequila tongues. naegi moans to his grand touch, shakes with pressure built, years and years and time that hasn't winked but the vhs static behind a vagrant gone for a kitchen refill. hands stealth a ways from waist to chest, play so sweet to buttons down the throat that they wriggle only mild when wrists are seized and pinned to the tabletop behind them, bends him at the back a beautiful contortionist for his eyes alone. in a brush to the head, togami rids them either of the gaudy pointed party favors. though he's not one for split focus, squanders nigh to passion burnt ultimate, divine.

the table's forced against rattling draws his snap by snap attention span high to a clinking, and that passion is now cut away to naegi's cheek rested gainst forest wood. "you have a pool table?"

kisses rather his throat, between them mumbling short, "no, it's a desk where i store my billiard ball collection," to keep him flat beneath. an index coaxes his chin straightened. naegi laughs, so always, and leans neck up to kiss him once.

"are you any good?" and really he should know by now that his paramour's the skin of theatrics, that any even close flirted to contest is an answer found in action. togami stands, draws the other likewise, stands and he walks to the neat lined wall row of cues. he selects one to leave the thrice broken, snubs it to a chalk polish before he's set to position. naegi watches on, bemused in judging the easy quirk to plushed lips, heightens only by the far backed support leg tempting the nicest view of a slack clad ass bent before the fifteen's rackless array.

white parades into the scatter. three solids sink to three holes. spin to a heel he goes round and peers bored to the other as though it's nothing, and it is nothing, because- he pauses to out hold the cue stick at a side, blow lingering chalk the tip left clean -he's togami byakuya.

"i'm excellent."

the cue slips back to its slot the same a smirk slips to his devil's food cake face, glances over a shoulder to his spectator's envisaged delectable awe.

naegi delivers- certainly. "wow," he says, and togami's suspect he's not the thinnest clue how the rules work, thinks he could've sunk the eight from the get go and taken a knight's title. "is it weird that that turned me on a little?"

the gleam to his teeth breaking free in a cheshire curl tempt togami ruthless into continuum, and naegi's light as angel wings to lifts behind the thighs and set atop the billiard table's oak lip. his own, they trounce along skin searing, a checkerboard of color drawn to the surface of his neck (repayment for why he's dragged collar buttons to choking as of recent, more so than all). naegi's weaseled himself from his blazer, to which togami can only hope the foxy calico he'd dressed to impress isn't let down by it.

arms twine round his shoulders, and the feelings of a birthday cat are the farthest thing from his mind.

naegi is everything, all the more so when he's placed beneath him so delicate as the now, whimpering against nibbles to his throat and the grind of waists too molten hot hot hot to save fever. he likes the way he's sat just _pleading_ to writhe about. he likes that they're dating-  _they're dating_. they're everything.

flushes tint christmas along either his cheek's bridge when togami ebbs back to see him, to  _see_ him and all that he is, and all that he is his. those lips take finely the wet of his kiss. naegi's a ruin to the hand slipped down his jeans' front. gathered at the center point go kisses, endless, begging harder the touch in grinds of hips to fingertips, only the sensation dragged a lightning rod's chiseled index nail down his spine to a retraction that breeds button-fly liberation.

"makoto! toga _miii!_ "

and it's common sense only that they'll whip a search party together at such an absence, the pack leader shadowed by the basement door thrown free in revelation. naegi's head whaps hard to the tabletop in his wrestle to catch sight of the implosion lighting the top step.

komaru blinks a layer of makeup clean in such a frenzy of lashes batting, fingertip prodding chin that goes to a puppydog tilt. "oh...um..." her hand drops to grip its opposite elbow tight. "well...hurry up and finish and come back upstairs, we're lighting the candles soon!"

the door rests in its easy swing as her steps go to a fade, that voice trailing a kettle's wisp to caterwaul  _kyouko, you were right, they're totally-!_ and closes off zipped. in the same note goes a hushing  _sip_ of his jeans back belonged. togami leaves those fingers to rest high at naegi's hip, burns his own skin on contact very nearly in the scorch to replace aura.

"um..." says his bit bottom lip, pulls fibers chapped slow by incisors' tear. "...want some cake?"

equal to one another hands dig gold through locks, burrow arms to sleeves anew,  _pop pop pop_ buttons up to where the other can conceal only by a palm rubbed embarrassed. they slip to rejoin once again all around delight. the den's closed inward by drapes and lights popped off, and kirigiri's placed skirt prim to couch cushions with the princess of the hour at her lap, firework display of candles to the glass before them. asahina dips her grin their direction to bid the newcomers forward more in a beckoning palm. they go to a conductor's, each the same raining voices together to a chorus in tradition.

had he not the tautest core to mortified, he'd face it to a scoffing. rather, togami breathes a most idle sigh, watches onward to the  _happy birthday to youuu_ rang about in such cacophony, faces lit to gusto unseen so long past the crumbles and blazes. naegi glances upways to him, grins mid verse, makes his heart drippy soppy to be a tenderness akin.

he joins in in time to meld sweet a long  _happy birthday to kittyyy_ as an arm curls round his waist to tug their hips twinned.

he supposes he can be stupid just this once so long as he gets cake out of the deal.

and it slices to candles gone to drought, sticks heavy gainst plates and reminds everyone in the pass around just exactly why the head of the eighth division holds her place. since have they split touch, watching on quiet from his spot stood postured spoons taking lips that sputter to humor the next moment, and he won't say he's had fun at a cat's birthday party, but won't voice the same that there'll be much to keep him up past this night's midst to drear.

kirigiri asks him behind a swallow of buttercream if he'd like to play a round of billiards downstairs afterward.

the plastic to his spoon scrapes against his fingertip to neat flung frosting across her cheek.


End file.
